I throw the stones meant for me to walk uponAt the cats that roam the neighborhood in search of ratsTo fight the war my fathers taught meMama beats the rug, then rolls it up behind the sofa Against the summer’s furyAnd watermelons lie cool as dogs beneath the bedroom cotThe skeleted key to the door where every grandfather satfrom “when I was a boy…”Hangs yet on Tata’s shriveled neck aside her golden crossAnd there she still sits waiting on the balcony, head bent, readying her kussaOutside, olive trees, gnarled, bowed and older than the doorStill put out pits for fire, wood to carve pilgrims’ crossesAnd oil sold to America’s Middle Eastern grocers for the sonsGone to AhmericaTo take new blood as blonded bridesSwim in deep cool poolsAnd learn to dream in EnglishThere they teach their Walt Disney’d children dipping pita into hummusAnd olive’s oil pooled with the taste of “When I was a boy…”When I am 17, I too will go as the others have--Packing my suitcase with the olives and the oil that I will missKiss my mother and hug my fatherTo find the dream -- a chocolate and coca-cola filled lifeUntil alblad, back home, has emptied of us all

Author Bio:Kelly Jadon is a graduate of Spring Arbor University and holds a degree in English with a focus on poetry. She is a teacher, poet and collage artist. One focus of her writing has been on the Christians of the Middle East, a relatively unknown minority. She also writes the syndicated column "Hometown Heroes" which publishes nationally online and locally in newspapers and magazines. Kelly has recently written a book of post-modern poetry, soon to be published.